It started with the football magazines. When I started reading, much earlier than anyone expected, I was spoonfed with my Mother's collection of children's books. She was a schoolteacher, and so acquired the habit of picking up any brightly-covered cutsy story she found interesting, a habit that continues to this day years after retiring from education. Dad wanted to leave his mark, but I was never interested in his automobile rags, even after his tales of race-car driving at East Tampa Bay speedway. But every sunday, after church and the extended family meal, there would be a gathering around the TV for the games, a few male adults, and one very small guest, in rapt attention, continually taking census of who was on the screen. "Who dat?" "That's Ricky Bell" "Who dat?" "That's Doug Williams. He's our quarterback" "and dat?" "That's Lee Roy Selmon. He's our best player" "I like im daddy" And that why he came home one day, with a glossy magazine, full of pictures of violent collisions and frozen mid-celebrations. I scoured every inch, but my favorite was the back cover, which showed all the helmets from every team, in all colors, like a candy display. Dad pointed towards the first few, sounding out the names, then backed away in mock exasperation when I waved at him, assuring that I could read it myself.
By the time I was 10, I was in Colorado, and taking weekly trips to the library. While I picked up books like "The Phantom Tollbooth", there was always the sports books in the youth section. There was a section, not exceptionally large or easy to find, but I found it. About a couple dozen books, maybe 25 pages each, every book focused on one football team's history, packed with black and white pics, which is where I learned about old-time players like Dick Butkus, Johnny Unitas, and Jim Brown. It was where I learned that you're supposed to hate the Raiders, because everybody hates the Raiders. I learned that apparently I was the only one who liked Tampa Bay's old Orange Uniforms, and no matter how many times people told me those were hideous, I argued, because those were my first love, so how could they be ugly? And I learned that, except for one magical year, the Broncos were largely terrible in their existence. Which was interesting to me, watching a young quarterback who seemed destined to change that history, even if by himself.
But the real find was at the annual Scholastic Book Sale at Monroe Elementary that year. My mother, piles of books weighing down her arms, was at the counter, asking if I had found a book for myself. I sheepishly held up a book that I can remember now with clarity. Small, but thick, pale blue cover with Joe Montana tossing a football over the heads of two Miami Dolphins. The title, in bubbled white letters, said "Super Bowls I-20: A Complete History." The book went over every game in detail, complete with full box score, and I must have read it 30 times. I memorized every game, every detail I could, to the point where I could watch the Super Bowl Highlight shows, and I knew that this was where Max McGee blew the game open with a big td reception, or how Jackie Smith dropped the easy touchdown catch that doomed the Cowboys against the Steelers, or when Jake Scott was MVP for the Dolphins in their SB VII win that clinched the perfect season. And then, with all these moments in my head, I would take the book outside, later to be reinforced with duct tape, and in our backyard, reply the whole games by myself. Throwing the ball up and running underneath it, making my own commentary as I dove for the ball.
"AND WHAT A CATCH FOR LYNN SWANN!!!!!!!!"
I like to read a couple of gridiron books before the season starts every year, and this year I chose David Maraniss's great biography of Vince Lombardi, "When Pride Mattered". Lombardi, one of the great coaches, and the namesake of the Super Bowl trophy, made for a great story, and a sad one, as football swallowed his life and his family, throwing his wife in depressions and taking precedent over his children. The other book, which I almost done with, is the excellent "It Never Rains in Tiger Stadium", by John Ed Bradley. Bradley does not talk about his career as an all-conference center for the 1979 LSU Tigers, but the aftermath, when he decides to forget about football and focus on his writing career (Bradley has written several novels; his most famous is Tupelo Nights). But he finds it difficult to break into writing, and even more challenging to let go of the sport that has been his life and family for a decade. He's desperate to not be the old man who won't shut up about his "playing days", but begins to realize that no matter how much you try, you never forget your first love.
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